It’s that time again! The school supply lists are out and parents are counting the cost of sending their children back to the classroom. For many the list is just a minor inconvenience, but for others it’s a major hit to the budget. The average cost of supplies for a first grader at our local school is $40-60, depending on the price of the backpack.

Someone has already asked me why there are tissues and paper towels and wipes and paper plates on so many lists. I can only answer from my own experience. Children are messy! They have runny noses, get glue on their fingers, spill things often, and don’t remember to wash their hands in the restroom. I also asked my students to wipe their desks at the end of each day. And the paper plates are mostly used for art projects. You’ll figure that out when your proud little artist brings home his first masterpiece.

Each year I extend a challenge to you to give up something on your entertainment agenda and donate $20 in cash or supplies to a student or classroom. This year you might be able to give more, or perhaps your circumstances have changed and you need to give less. Rest assured that even one box of crayons or wet wipes will be appreciated. Please try to donate by September 1. Thank you!

Gary and I love to watch HGTV. I once toyed with the idea of becoming a real estate agent and even took a few classes. Gary and I have lived in a variety of houses in several states. We’ve done some basic remodeling with our fathers. Gary’s father was one of the first “flippers” in his area. So each aspect of the home acquisition process is appealing to us. The buying-selling shows are a fascinating glimpse of other lifestyles. The renovation shows are entertaining and enlightening. The “dream house” shows…million dollar mansions on the beach…are just eye candy. And of course we have our favorite house-flipping, renovating, designing gurus and there are a couple that we refuse to watch.

Several universal truths become crystal clear when you have watched these shows for as long as we have.

First, people have little or no concept of the difference between “need” and “want”.

People have unrealistic expectations about everything, especially their own abilities.

People assume that the solution for their inability to clean and organize is simply more space.

People want a great deal of value for very little money.

People assume that the perfect environment will ensure the perfect relationship.

People assume that the perfect house exists…

and that house has a perfect kitchen.

It’s been amusing to watch the concept of the “perfect” kitchen evolve over the past few generations. My great-grandmother thought the perfect kitchen had a sink with running water and a stove that didn’t require wood. My grandmother wanted two ovens so she could bake a turkey and a pie at the same time. My mom wanted enough counter space to chop vegetables and safely complete her canning procedures. I don’t think any of them ever asked for a kitchen big enough for everyone to “hang out” in or open to the living room so we could all see the dirty dishes stacked in the sink after lunch. Nor do I ever remember any of them complaining because the appliances weren’t all the same color. They were just happy if all of them worked!

All of this came to mind because last night a woman made the comment “I can’t see myself cooking in this kitchen.” I almost laughed out loud! I thought back to the roughly thirty-five kitchens I’ve cooked in since becoming an adult. Believe it or not, I can vaguely recall most of them, and clearly remember at least a dozen. Perhaps it is true that the kitchen is the heart of the home, or maybe I’ve always been obsessed with food. I can also remember the kitchens of several friends and relatives, but not other parts of their homes. Anyway, I can’t recall ever thinking I “couldn’t cook” in a kitchen of any size, shape, or configuration. Yes, I saw some as a challenge. Others seemed luxurious and I was sad to leave them behind. But all of them met our needs and I managed to cook in them without losing my mind or burning too many meals.

I suppose my acceptance of my less-than-perfect kitchens came from years of observing and assisting my mother, grandmothers, and aunts in their kitchens. My mom could, and did, cook dinner for fifteen people in a kitchen the size of a closet. My grandmother’s kitchen barely had enough counter space to set up the coffee pot and make a salad at the same time. Somehow she always managed to make a Thanksgiving dinner that left us begging for leftovers.

I’m not condemning those of you who want a gorgeous kitchen. But I do want to remind you that the perfect environment may not make you a better cook or your spouse more willing to assist you. It won’t make the dishes magically disappear; someone still has to load them into that pretty stainless steel dishwasher. And it won’t suddenly make cooking your favorite activity if you didn’t enjoy cooking in the first place. Maybe that’s the real reason I never worried about having a perfect kitchen. I could watch the food channel all day long and never be a perfect cook!

We bought a new oscillating sprinkler this week and I’ve assigned it the difficult task of helping me keep the St. Augustine grass alive during the heat of July and August. Now that I’ve used it for a week I realize that I also need a small stationary sprinkler for the side yard. On my shopping list. I suppose a pulsating sprinkler would have solved both problems, but then I wouldn’t be able to relive so many memories of my childhood…and isn’t that the second most important reason to buy a sprinkler?

Yes, the oscillating sprinkler was always my favorite when I was a child. First of all, there was the whole issue of positioning. It was the only type I could move from one section of the lawn to another without walking all the way back to the faucet to turn off the water, and without getting wet if I didn’t want to be wet. Unless I was careless I could wait for the water to spray forward, quickly move the sprinkler, and run away before it reversed. Okay, sometimes it took more than one try, but it was good exercise. Those stationary sprinklers were a pain. I had to turn off the water, move the sprinkler, turn the water back on, and then drag the hose a bit to put it in a slightly better position. Half the time I managed to turn the sprinkler upside down and had to start over. We seldom owned a pulsating sprinkler because they were more expensive than the others. Thank goodness, because that would have added another factor: noise.

The oscillating sprinkler was also my favorite because it was gentle and quiet. The stationary one only created a bit more noise. But the sound of the pulsating sprinkler seemed frenzied and unsettling. That wasn’t the backdrop I wanted for the little green oasis where I read a book and picked flowers. So I was happy to see it reserved for public parks and playgrounds.

Providing water for the lawn was the supposed purpose of our sprinklers, but I don’t think we often lived where the lawn was truly worth the effort or the cost. The real reason to use a sprinkler was to keep us cool! We spent many an hour walking or running through the spraying water. Even the dogs joined us on hot summer days. We could never afford a swimming pool and the water in the irrigation vat was usually frigid, so the lawn sprinkler provided some much needed relief between chores. And if Dad complained about the water running we’d just smile and say, “Mom wants the lawn to be pretty and green!”

I know most people these days prefer sprinkler “systems”. They prefer automatic timers so they don’t even have to turn them on and off. But I like the ritual of hooking up the sprinkler, turning on the faucet, and watching that lovely arch rise into the air. Some days I’m almost tempted to run through it….

I’ll be the first to admit that this year’s garden has been a disappointment. And while I realize that the growing season is not yet over, I don’t have high expectations for an abundance of fall flowers. My first mistake was not spending more time, effort, and money amending the poor soil. I intend to do better this fall and spring. Of course breaking my foot challenged me. And now we are just finishing a couple of weeks of record-breaking heat. I suppose I’m lucky to enjoy any flowers at all, so I should not complain about quantity or quality. And gardeners are an optimistic group…I have high hopes that next year will be better. In the meantime, I’m blessed to enjoy and share this last lily of the season. Lilies never disappoint.

vacation- an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.

For months my Facebook feed has been flooded with the smiling faces of friends and family members enjoying their vacations. Everyone looks relaxed. Worries are temporarily forgotten. Pain and problems set aside…

There are a couple of photos that make me happier than others because I know how much the person in the picture needs and deserves a break from pain and problems. I know that complete relaxation is never going to be part of their life again. I know that despite a “brave front” their daily life is a challenge.

So it is with a happy and grateful heart that I view their vacation photos. I wish those days of lounging on the beach or fishing on the river or sailing on the lake could last forever. I wish they did not have to return to the boring days of work and the challenges of getting children ready for school each day. I wish they did not have to sleep too little and walk too far and do too much in order to be a good employee or a responsible parent or a supportive child. But life is all about boring and ordinary and daily. It’s all about responsibility, about getting up and pressing on and doing the best we can. And while we may enjoy moments of peace and joy and fulfillment each day, there isn’t a one of us who isn’t relishing the memories of our last vacation and dreaming of the next one. It’s a wonderful coping mechanism…

When I was a child our vacations had other names like “moving” or “going to visit grandmother”, but they were still great adventures. I can conjure up images of places and people that I would never have encountered if we had stayed in our hometown and continued with our daily routine. Traveling and camping and fishing and exploring the country always made me feel special. It gave me a sense of family unity- us exploring the world. I still cherish the memories of those days and of all our vacations since then. And if it turns out that I can’t take another vacation I’ll relive mine through my photos and enjoy yours through the magic of Facebook.

So…enjoy these last weeks of summer. Walk on the beach, fish in the river, float on the lake, explore one more museum. And then, as you unpack the suitcases and resume the responsibilities of your ordinary life, don’t feel guilty if you already know where you want to go next year. I’ll be praying for you and waiting to see those great photos!

Each day the morning news brings me reports of things I don’t want to hear about. People in general are such a disappointment. People in leadership are such an embarrassment. People in crisis are such a concern. Hearing the words and actions of people “out there” sometimes makes me want to crawl back under the covers.

When I was a young woman I had such big plans for helping the world to become a better place. I thought I knew so much and I wanted to share my ideas. I had a knack for teaching and organization. I loved peace and order and beauty. I was confident that I could be a force for good. I would work hard, take care of my family, attend church, serve on committees, spread my love and joy, and everything around me would improve. Egos are large when you are young.

As a busy parent I decided that the world could function quite well without me while I took care of things in my own house. I didn’t have a lot of time to make the rest of the world a better place, and I sure didn’t have the energy for a lot of civic commitment. I had to work to make a living and we all know that charity begins at home.

Over the years I’ve broadened my views and widened my path to share it with more people. I’ve tried to follow God’s plans even when they seemed confusing or at odds with my own. And yes, I’ve returned many times to my original goal of making the world a better place. I’ve served on a few committees and worked with a few groups for the greater good. I’ve done a few things that might have improved a small corner of the world. And yet…

The bravest and yet most foolish words in the world have to be “I’m going to…” God tells us to make plans and to be prepared, but to realize that His will and His outcome are what prevail. The older I become, the more clearly I see how God has made subtle changes in my life that have improved it in ways that never occurred to me. I’m not saying that everything in my past now “makes sense”, but I often have a very strong sense of how different my life would be if my plans had turned out exactly as I imagined them. And as I look forward to whatever years and plans are still ahead of me I realize more than ever that “right here” and “right now” is about all I can even hope to control. We all know that our life changes in a heartbeat…or the lack of it.

Somehow when I was young and foolish I had the impression that the plans of other people would magically align with my own. But those people out there in the world do as they will…good, bad, and so very ugly…without regard to what I had planned. My only recourse is to stay close to God and seek his guidance. I still have my own faith, hope, love, and path.

No matter what I think or feel or plan the news will still tell me something I don’t want to know. People in general will continue to be a disappointment. People in leadership will be an embarrassment. People in crisis will be a concern. I’m only responsible for my life, right here, right now, not theirs.

Some people spend a great deal of time trying to be kind to their friends and neighbors.

Others just are.

Even when I was young I tended to keep what little I had and protect my own interests. I often preferred to spend my time alone rather than share my precious toys or trinkets with my friends; heaven forbid I should have to share them with my brothers. It wasn’t that I was mean, or even un-kind. I simply had to think and consider how I would treat someone, and my actions were usually based on theirs. Retaliation and revenge were too often my actions, blamed of course, on the antics of my brothers.

Oh, I hear you saying, “you were just a kid”. Ah, yes...but there were always other kids around. I know for a fact that one of my cousins came out of the womb with kindness in her heart. I couldn’t coax her into retaliation against her own brothers, much less mine…and believe me, I tried. She never met a stranger who didn’t need food or clothing. I think she even gave a neighbor girl one of her dolls! And it wasn’t out of fear, but out of bravery and a sense of duty. She was always hugging and encouraging and supporting and healing. I was always cautiously following her lead, but afraid to get hurt myself.

I’ve gotten better at expressing kindness, at being kind, as I’ve gotten older and wiser. I know more about what other people need and about what I need to survive in this world. I’m more confident that my own needs will be met, even as I give to those who are living through some of the same challenges and tough times that I did in the past. However, the greatest obstacle that I had to overcome in order to truly be kind was found in my childhood. I had to stop treating people the way they treated me. I had to stop basing my actions on theirs. I had to stop “keeping score” and just do what I needed to do- be kind to friends and neighbors, strangers and enemies- because that’s what they need, not what I always think they deserve.

Yes, I’m still a work in progress. I’m still not as kind as my naturally kind cousin. But I’m definitely working on treating others as I want to be treated by them, not as I am treated. I was reading Luke 6 this morning: 32 “But if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same.” He’s got a point.

In 1978 we lived in a tiny community in the high desert of California. Lone Pine was nestled below the Sierras in the Owens Valley and was quite a tourist attraction. It’s near the Japanese relocation camp at Manzanar and for many years was also a popular location for western movies to be filmed. It’s on the route to ski and hiking destinations.

Yesterday I was researching some outlaws in the Durant paper and right there next to a meeting report of the Presbyterian Church and an account of the Rondout train robbery was an article about the water protest in Lone Pine, California:

November 24, 1924

Still Determined, Sixty Men Guard Diverted Water

Lone Pine- Nov. 18- (United Press)- Through another night and into the third day the band of determined men stood guard beside the opened waste gates of the Los Angeles aqueduct while the stream of water, the domestic needs of the city, diverted from its artificial course, flowed back toward Owens River whence it originally came. Unrelenting in their demand for a settlement from the city in the dispute over the rights to the river waters the sixty men appear even firmer in purpose than at first. A second call for state troops was made last night by Sheriff Charles Collins.

Fascinating to think about history repeating over and over. There were water problems and protests when we lived there. I suppose they began as soon as the fist gallon of water was diverted from Owens Valley to the homes of Los Angeles. I suppose there are still those who would like to see the water returned to the river.

The Bible reminds us that there is nothing new under the sun. When I watch the daily news I have no doubt about the truth of that statement. This is just further proof that we are creatures of habit. Of course it seems that the most foolish, the most illogical, and the most harmful habits are those most often repeated.

For the past year I’ve enjoyed the privilege of writing a few newspaper articles about local history topics. I like the challenge of finding out “the rest of the story” and the research adds to the data base I maintain for other history and genealogy projects. I try to alternate between buildings, people, and events in order to appeal to a wide variety of readers. This week I’ve been doing a lot of reading and research about the Newton brothers. As some of you already know, the Newton brothers were the most successful bank robbers in U.S. history. What you may not know is that they started on their path to fame and fortune here, in Texas and Oklahoma, and they ventured into crime as children. Willis Newton, the oldest of the brothers, admitted that he began stealing when he was twelve. He did it deliberately because his desperately poor family needed money. He continued because he was good at it. He solicited the help of his brothers. He perfected their methods and increased their successes. For Willis crime was just something he did and did well. Even when he was an old man of 74 facing down a jury for yet another crime, he appeared to have no regrets and he always told reporters that his life of crime was “just business”.

I find the Newton brothers fascinating because they represent both nature and nurture in the age-old question of what determines our fate. There are criminals in every family tree and ours has its share as well. So what tips the scales and creates a whole gang of criminals in one family? Their father was a gambler and alcoholic. Their mother told bedtime stories of notorious criminals and bragged that she would have been a great outlaw. She defended the actions of her boys and once even convinced a judge to free one of them because she needed him at home. Of her eleven children only four became infamous, but a careful examination of the lives of the others shows a variety of criminal behavior. I suspect that none were completely immune to the influences of the others. When Willis was arrested in 1963 for kidnapping a man in Oklahoma, his sister’s son, Noel, was arrested as his accomplice.

Oh, some will say that Willis tricked Jess and Joe into becoming bank robbers. Yes, he did. But they were old enough to say no to their brother. Willis had already been in and out of prison time and time again, so they were aware of the consequences of a life of crime. Both had worked for ranchers and a Wild West show and had other skills, other options. They were attractive, charming, and intelligent. Whether it was their sense of duty to the family or their natural propensity for danger that affected their decisions, once they joined Willis in their first heist they became a “gang”- one that recruited other members and successfully robbed between 60 and 85 banks (depending on who you believe).

The Newton boys were finally captured, served some time in prison, and then lived out their long lives doing some rather ordinary things: ranching, odd jobs, driving a bus, operating a café, running a gas station. Some of their new friends and neighbors were unaware of their dishonest past. Others knew but didn’t care. And of course one of the boys just couldn’t go to his grave without attempting one more hold up. He was 76 when he was arrested for attempting to rob a bank in Rowena, Texas.

Willis lived to be 90, defiant and unrepentant to the end of his days. I sit here trying to recall what I thought about when I was twelve. Willis saw the poverty of his family, compared it to the wealth of others and decided that although life was not fair, he could even the score. I also grew up in poverty, but I couldn’t fathom doing anything to change that except to work hard on our farm and get a good education so I could have a career as an adult. I left “money matters” to my parents. Was that because of my nature or their nurturing? Perhaps Willis took matters into his own hands because he was the oldest and his father wasn’t providing for the younger children. Perhaps the stories told by his mom excited his imagination. Whatever made his young mind consider crime as his solution it certainly brings to my mind the words of my grandmother, “there but for the grace of God…”

I read a lot about the pioneers who settled in our little corner of the world. Most arrived here in the early 1800s on horses and in wagons. They came from eastern states and joined the Native Americans, missionaries, railroad workers, outlaws, and cowpokes who had already been here for decades. Though their lives were difficult and they struggled to create homes in the Indian Territory, at least they shared some history and culture and experiences. There was an element of familiarity to their daily lives. Only a few truly found themselves in a completely alien world like the brave teenager who arrived here on the train in 1901.

Isadore I. Schaffer, fifteen years old, wore a small cardboard tag on his chest that read simply “Caddo. I.T.” He spoke only Hebrew and had never been so far away from his home in Lithuania. And according to a tribute written in 1963, he wasn’t even supposed to come to Caddo. He was a last-minute substitute for someone else who couldn’t travel as planned. The man’s sponsor, Ben Siegel, took Isadore in anyway, gave him a job and a place to live, and helped him learn English. Isadore became a citizen, married, raised a family, and owned a successful business. He was a Mason and a Shriner. He was a charter member of the Caddo Lion’s Club. During World War II he worked in an ammunition plant. He was fondly referred to as Caddo’s “courteous, unassuming, reticent Hebrew, respected by his many friends and business associates alike”. Despite the odds against him, by all accounts he became a model citizen.

Isadore’s story is only one of millions. I know there are an equal number of good and bad stories. The immigrants in our country represent successful and unsuccessful lives, model citizens and dreadful criminals. Yet, as I read about the early pioneers, I can’t help comparing them to the immigrants we are arguing about today. Would we see potential in a gangly teenager, or consider him a burden on society? Would we welcome our own ancestors as prospective citizens or view them as possible threats to our safety and security? Would we make our decisions based on assumptions and prejudices…or listen to their stories?